


Now and Then

by pearl_o



Category: Wilby Wonderful (2004)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-04
Updated: 2006-03-04
Packaged: 2017-10-04 04:09:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearl_o/pseuds/pearl_o
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It's not what he ever expected, but he likes it this way."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Now and Then

There was this one time, when Duck was living on the mainland, in the city. He'd gone out with a bunch of these guys he knew, his sort-of friends at the time, and they were coming out of the bar, all of them a little worse for wear, and Duck was the most shitfaced of all of them, but he was good at dealing with it by then; he'd had plenty of practice.

And there was this guy on street with his girlfriend, muttering something to her about the queers taking over all the good joints -- and it was like something clicked inside of Duck, something ugly, and he had stopped in his tracks and looked over at the guy and said, "What did you just say?"

The guy had looked surprised, like he hadn't expected to be heard, and Duck said, louder, "You got a problem or something?"

Duck's buddies were saying something behind him, probably trying to calm him down, but then the guy looked at his date and puffed out his chest a little and said, all bravado, "Maybe I do, fag."

And then Duck punched him in the face, and didn't stop beating on him until they dragged him off and the guy was bleeding in three different places.

In Wilby he hears whispers sometimes when he's walking around, but he's got his priorities straight now. It's nothing he listens to. Dan listens to them, though, flinches and freezes when the asshole teenagers say "fairies" a little too loudly, and Duck doesn't say anything then, either, but he puts his hand on Dan, squeezes his arm, maybe, or smiles at him like they're sharing a joke.

It's a small town, really, Wilby, and when Duck sees any of those people around again, like he sees everybody, he treats them just the same. Person to person, and sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't, but it's what Duck does now.

 

* * *

Duck's been in love before, but that was in the Way Back When, too, during that whole time that could almost be another life, if it wasn't for how Duck could never have gotten here without going through that first. Back with the drinking and the anger and the fucking -- when Duck thinks of Joey now, he can't remember much: just the vague outline of his face, the memory of dancing with him, throwing his arms around his neck and making out with him in dirty bars, the feeling that whatever they had was so big, so overwhelming that nothing else mattered, so urgent that it might even kill them both and it would only be right.

This thing with Dan isn't like that at all. Sometimes Dan comes over to his house and they watch movies all evening, and Dan lies down on the couch with his feet hanging over the edge and his head resting in Duck's lap, interlacing their hands together and resting them in the middle of his own chest while they watch John Wayne. Once or twice Duck's taken a blanket down towards the shore in the middle of the night so they can lie on their backs and stargaze; that's how Duck learned that Dan knew all the constellations, even though he said the stars didn't look quite like this anywhere else but the island.

Sometimes Duck will suddenly look at Dan, and just feel this sense of tenderness, this quiet calm feeling like everything's okay with the world. It's not what he ever expected, but he likes it this way. He doesn't know if Dan ever feels it too. He hopes so; Dan needs that as much as anyone. More.

 

* * *

Duck took a picture of Dan, after he got out of the hospital, a few weeks after the bruises faded. He's looking straight at the camera, sitting against the big tree in the backyard, squinting into the sun, his forearms resting against his knees. You can tell he doesn't like getting his picture taken; he's stiff, a little awkward looking, waiting for Duck to finish. But he's smiling, too, just a little. As if when he's not paying attention the corners of his mouth default to up now, instead of down.

 

* * *

For Christmas, Sandra's daughter Emily knits Duck a scarf. It's gray and long and warm. He wears it every day that winter. It's Dan's first winter on the island; he's used to them being a lot milder, but he seems to like it, like the whole thing's a big novelty to him. He's strangely comfortable with the snow and the rain and the wind, chopping firewood every day, looking more himself covered with layers of clothing than he ever did in the summer.

Sometimes when Duck gets home, Dan is already there, the fire blazing and heating up the tiny house. He takes off Duck's hat and hangs it on the coat rack, removes his gloves one at a time, unbuttons his coat, and slowly unwraps the scarf from where it's twisted three times around Duck's neck.

Huddled under three layers of blankets, they kiss for hours; Duck doesn't hear anything but the crackling of the wood and the sound of their breathing. Close and quiet and warm and dark, everything Duck didn't know enough to want when he was younger -- the peace is like another gift, one he doesn't know how to be grateful enough for.

And this time he _knows_ it's just the same for Dan.


End file.
